


Home In Your Eyes

by theWrathfulLamb (RuinousScribe)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: ALotOfTalking, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BasicallyATherapySessionAtHome, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, I love their eyes so lots of mentions of eyes..., Implied Manipulation, M/M, Mentioned violence, Metaphors, Murder Husbands, Talking, Touch-Starved Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will and Hannibal are really the only characters, mentioned! Murder Family, slight Dark! Will, the rest are just mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28711707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuinousScribe/pseuds/theWrathfulLamb
Summary: Will needs to talk. Hannibal is there to listen... and psyhcoanalyze.-This has nothing to do with any songs linked to the phrase that is the title.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Home In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a fluffy drabble in my drafts, but oh well, guess my first Hannigram fic is this mess. 
> 
> I also intend this to be set in a divergent AU sometime before S3, and without the mess that results from Hannibal's manipuation. Perhaps, in a place where he had not needed to take such drastic measures because Will was more ready to fall. Hope that makes sense... (Basically, imagine if they got together before all the gutting had to go down)

The sound of the front door slamming shut is what wakes Hannibal. His senses are on high alert, but his eyes remain closed. After years of cohabiting, he has grown accustomed to the sound of Will’s footfalls—usually light and relaxed when within the confines of the house, heavy and dragging in the presence of dear Uncle Jack, and quiet as a mouse otherwise. 

In the rare times that Will’s work follows him home—Hannibal knows it is not completely under Will’s control and that if the younger man had his way, the ghosts would be securely locked within his case files—Hannibal would find himself graced with hesitant, almost confused, steps. Hannibal hears that rhythm now as Will trudges up the stairs and down the hallway leading to the master bedroom. The thump of each stride is sluggish, weighed down by an exhaustion that isn’t only physical. In accompaniment, Hannibal hears the rustling of fabric as Will all but stumbles into the bathroom, ignoring the unmoving figure on the bed. 

When he hears the shower turn on, Hannibal sits up. He first glances at the bathroom door, left ajar but not inviting. Then, at the clock on the wall on the wall. A quarter to two. Perfectly fine time to indulge his beloved in a soothing cup of valerian root. Swinging his legs off the bed, Hannibal sweeps his eyes over the trail of clothes Will had shed on his way to the bathroom. There is a faint scent of blood, not enough to assume a fresh murder scene, and the usual staleness of the lab.

Forgoing his robe, Hannibal slipped on his house slippers before making his way downstairs. Hannibal’s own steps are light and soundless as he makes his way to the kitchen. He makes quick work of the tea, hands working on auto-pilot and sleep long forgotten. He knows his Will is tired, but his mind will not let him rest yet. Will’s footsteps are far lighter after his shower as Hannibal smells him before he hears him enter the room.

“You’re still up?”

Hannibal lifts his eyes to meet the worn-out gaze of the younger man. Will had slipped on Hannibal’s house robe over his usual shirt-and-shorts ensemble, and seeing him swaddled comfortably makes Hannibal’s heart give a jolt. He steps out from behind the counter as Will fully enters the kitchen. They meet halfway and Will allows himself to be pulled into an embrace, shivering once when he feels Hannibal press his nose into Will’s damp curls and inhale. 

“Are you feeling alright, darling?” At Will’s non-committal hum, Hannibal’s arms tighten around him for a moment before he is released. He thinks he hears Hannibal murmur something else, but he still feels a little fuzzy and a dark shadow seems to seep into his peripherals anywhere he looks. Will feels himself be gently pushed towards the direction of the living room where he is promptly pushed down to a seat. 

After a few moments, he feels the haze in his vision let up. He feels the softness of Hannibal’s expensive rug under his feet and the heat from the crackling fireplace—when had that been lit? He looks up when Hannibal re-enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He wordlessly hands one to Will and takes a seat in the armchair to Will’s right. Will brings both feet up on the couch, folds them under him, and breathes in the warmth of his mug. He doesn’t wonder why Hannibal doesn’t take a seat next to him. He doesn’t know if he appreciates the space or if he wants to reach out a hand to touch his lover. Hannibal always seems to be able to read him so well.

Will feels those amber eyes on him as he takes a tentative sip of his steaming drink. He recognizes the concoction to be one Hanibal had explained in depth before. Something about helping with sleep. Meeting Hannibal’s eyes once more, Will notes that the flames make his dark eyes appear golden. Before he gets lost again, albeit, in a much welcoming place, Will steels himself to speak. 

“Scene was bad today. Family. Like those families, the Turners, the Frists. But different.”

Hannibal tilts his head the slightest bit and blinks at Will. Will is reminded of their first few conversations in Hannibal’s office. “How so?” 

“There was no forgiveness in this one.” 

“And in its place?” Will feels a slight trickle of irritation at Hannibal’s prodding questions, but it’s easily subdued when he sees the genuine curiosity in those eyes lit aglow by the fire. He would hang it over his head next time, but for now, Will thinks that letting Hannibal lead him wouldn’t be so bad. 

“It was an adoptive relationship,” Will says as an answer before he takes another short sip from his cup. Hannibal mimics his actions, eyes never straying from their locked path on Will. “Shards of broken glass trying to fit together to form a new pattern, cemented together by hatred and anger.” 

“Reminiscent of _kintsugi_?” Hannibal arches an elegant brow. 

Will frowns. “No. They thought they could improve the art. They were wrong. They were _clouded_.” 

“Better to hide everything than show the slightest of flaws.” Hannibal leans back in his chair, one leg elegantly folding over the opposite knee. His cup is cradled close to his belly, posture relaxed but closed off. Will wonders if he’s demonstrating. 

“The Japanese reasoned they were emphasizing those flaws—transforming them to exhibit beauty.” Will thinks Hannibal’s eyes twinkle, and before he can attribute that to the fire, Hannibal’s lip twitches. _Pretentious bastard_ , Will thinks fondly. Even weary and drained, it excites Hannibal how Will can match him so perfectly. 

“And stained glass was created with the same sentiment. Designed to exemplify the images borne from words spoken in churches. To show the story told within its walls. Was this family religious, Will?”

“Religion is tricky. Where do you draw the line between the blind sinner and the closed-eyed faithful?” Letting his rhetorical question hang in between them, Will raises a hand to rub at his eyes. Hannibal watches him, ever so patient. Will sighs before letting his hand fall to his lap. 

“As you said, they only work to provide a sense of physicality to already existing ideas. It isn’t about art, it’s still only about the words. Without them, the illustrations hold little to no meaning—replicas easily replaced. 

“Besides, glass is too fragile,” Will muses, tapping a blunt fingernail on his cup. His eyes are now trained on the ochre liquid of his tea. He hears Hannibal shift slightly in his seat.

“Was that what they were? Fragile?” His words pull a sharp huff from Will, not quite a humourless laugh. Hannibal’s eyes crinkle at the corners in fondness, but Will doesn’t lift his eyes to see. 

“They were brittle. Broken-off pieces that thought they could mould themselves together into a mocking representation of _family_.” Will feels his throat dry up at the word. He brings the cup to his lips. The tea has cooled down and it fills him with warmth as he takes a generous gulp. 

“And they were unsuccessful in that regard?” Will shouldn’t laugh, but the way Hannibal mirrors his actions makes a smile tug at his lips. Of course, Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t gulp down tea—he settles for dainty sips.

“I’d argue a successful murder-suicide attributed to an unsuccessful family dynamic. Wouldn’t you, Doctor?” Will’s eyes hold displaced mischief when he meets Hannibal’s unwavering gaze again. Hannibal’s chest aches in adoration for his mongoose. 

They continue to drink in silence for a few moments maintaining eye-contact like a challenge, until Will tips his head back, downing the rest of his drink like a shot. Hannibal suppresses a ‘tsk’, but he stands up to collect the now empty teacup. Instead of continuing out the door like Will had expected though, Hannibal places both their cups on the small table at the opposite end of Will’s seat. Will had anticipated a short trip to the kitchen again so he had slid his feet back to the floor, and now he scoots over in invitation. Hannibal takes a seat next to him, not pressed close like Will would have preferred but close enough that he can feel Hannibal’s warmth—a different heat from that of the slowly dying fire. 

When Hannibal doesn’t move closer, Will makes a disgruntled noise before giving in and leaning heavily against the other man’s side. Physical touch has long since taken a large part of their relationship, and Will has Hannibal to thank for gradually slipping it into his life. Of course, he doesn’t miss the opportunity to poke fun at his partner for having been so touchy with someone who was, at a brief point in time (“We had _one_ official session, Will.”), a patient. 

His curls brush Hannibal’s cheek and he hopes that they’ve dried enough to not warrant him being pushed off. They aren’t, but Hannibal puts an arm around him anyway, pulling Will’s body snug against his side. 

Will sighs, in contentment this time, before he tries to focus back on their conversation. He knows that Hannibal wouldn’t put it past him to suddenly doze off, but he also knows that not getting this off his chest now will just bite him in the ass later on.

“The daughter did it.” His voice is quiet, testing the silence between them. He feels Hannibal’s fingers flex from where they’re now pressed against his waist, but the man does nothing else except turn his head to breathe Will in again. Will releases a shaky breath. 

“They live— _lived_ isolated. Not on the run, but close enough. Their blood families never reported them missing, but it’s only been a few years.”

At Hannibal’s silence, Will turns his head up towards the man. Hannibal looks down at him. From this close, Will can see how clearly his amber eyes turn a hypnotic shade of gold. The usual specks of russet and honey now swirl together in a dizzying blend of color. Will licks his drying lips, satisfied when those magnificent eyes follow the motion of his tongue. He adds in a flutter of his eyelashes for good measure. “Do you want to know how she did it?” 

“As long as I am allowed to be privy of the details, I will not stop you from sharing your thoughts with me, dear Will.” Hannibal smiles genuinely, but Will can practically feel the smugness that radiates from the older man. He fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“You are insufferable.” Hannibal hums what feels like an affirmative and Will pinches his side. He pushes himself off Hannibal but keeps their arms interlocked. He can’t continue to think straight when it feels so comfortable and easy to bask in Hannibal’s body heat, and inhale his scent that close, and get lost in his eyes. Clearing his throat, Will steels his gaze toward the fire.

“Perhaps I’ve mentioned in passing how we’ve been tracking down a string of missing persons for a while now. Jack didn’t think they were related. I didn’t either. Not until the fourth one—well, not the fourth exactly, some of them _were_ unrelated. But, those that were involved had one connection. Not to each other; that was the tricky part.”

“To our killer?” Will dips his head in a vague gesture. His fingers tap a steady rhythm on Hannibal’s thigh.

“He was building the perfect family. Piecing together fragments left unwanted, shaving off an inch or two more to fit his design, and then securing them together.” 

“She, you mean?” Will breaks his gaze from the fire and his fingers stop tapping. Hannibal takes this a a prompt to take Will’s hand in his and rub over Will’s knuckles with gentle sweeps of his thumb. 

“Hmm? Ah, yes. But she wasn’t the mastermind. She was a pawn in his game. One he didn’t account for.”

“His mistake.”

“Yes. One that cost him his life.” Will’s tone is sharp, almost criticizing, and Hannibal fights to hide a smirk. Instead, he gives Will’s hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“She was the first. He _rescued_ her from her past. Gave her a place to finally call home. He conditioned her to serve his will. She did; she lured the rest.” Hannibal hears the minute crack in Will’s voice and suddenly all feelings of pride leave him. Concern takes over at the blankness of Will’s gaze. 

_Abigail_ , the name echoes in their minds. 

Hannibal quietly watches Will and sees that brilliant mind replay scenes better left in the past. He knows they will always haunt Will--the way ghosts always haunt a seer, the way Mischa haunts him. Hannibal blinks out of his own stupor when Will breaks free from his embrace. He leans back against the armrest and folds a leg under him so they face each other. 

Will continues.

“After constructing the perfect family, though, he must have realized what he really _needed_ \-- what he really wanted to recreate. It wasn’t the idea of having a family. It was the idea of destroying one.”

“Is that what he had done to his family?” 

The lights in the hallway behind Hannibal reflect in Will’s eyes. They are clearer now and the pale blue hue sends a flashing image of cold lips across Hannibal’s eyes. He blinks and focuses on the calm tone of Will’s voice. 

“Daniel Knowles. Killed his wife and two kids seemingly out of nowhere, then disappeared. Bullets to the head, two for each child, three for his wife. He worked in the clergy for most of his life and the people there said they’d never suspected him of anything—especially not murder. Anyway, yes, we believe that’s the end he had intended for his new family as well.”

“And what prompted his ward to take these matters in her own hands?”

“Probably saw through his lies at some point. She took their hearts. Packed them up and sent them all back.” _To their families._

Hannibal blinks at him. “Home is where the heart is.”

Will nods grimly in affirmation. Silence hangs over them. The facts are now out in the open, but the truth of the actions were never what truly unsettled Will, and deep down he knows that. Worse still, he knows that it never took Hannibal too long to figure that out, either.

“The images the windows illustrated were to help in storytelling. For the uneducated. To keep the church doors open to all walks of life. But they were all just interpretations of what may have happened. None truly faithful to the scripture.” 

“Is that what bothers you?”

“I think I’ve been through enough manipulation to brush it aside.” A rueful smile graces Will’s lips while Hannibal’s pull downward in a frown. “No. His manipulation was obvious and accounted for, her acceptance is what _intrigued_ me. There was no forgiveness there. She wanted revenge, but she didn’t make him suffer for it. Their deaths were clean, methodical, not one any different from the others.”

“Perhaps, she has had enough of that pain. His betrayal pulled the trigger on the gun in her hands.” Hannibal’s words are quiet and Will barely catches them. As clearly as Hannibal can peer into Will’s mind, Will can see into his. The fire in Hannibal’s eyes turn a bright red. Will thinks of Freddie Lounds. 

He reaches to trace over Hannibal’s clenched fist. The older man looks down at their hands but does not move away. 

“She stayed in the house. She sent everyone away and she pointed the gun at herself in that house.”

“It was her home.”

There is silence again. The clock behind Will signals the arrival of the witching hour. Will sighs before standing up. He looks down at Hannibal and reaches a hand for him. It feels like an invitation for assistance and truce all in one. Hannibal takes his hand. 

They walk up the stairs quietly, flicking the light switches they pass, once more bathing the house in darkness. Their hands are still joined as they enter the bedroom and Will stubbornly clings on as he struggles in maneuvering himself to his side of the bed. When they successfully lay on their sides, a hair’s breadth away from each other, Will releases him. 

“Were you asleep for long?”

“I had intended to wait for you, but when you texted me of a morning arrival I assumed you meant later this morning, darling.” Hannibal brings their clasped hands up, pressing a kiss to the back of Will’s. 

“Hmm. Sorry for waking you.” Will wiggles his hand free to reach up and push back the strands of hair that had fallen into Hannibal’s eyes. Will almost snorts at the way Hannibal leans into his palm, holding it still to cradle against his cheek. 

“Never apologize for gracing me with your presence, _mylimasis_ .” At this, Will _does_ snort. 

“Even when I wake you up at ungodly hours, smelling of blood and dirt, and lamenting about murderers?” Hannibal hums against Will’s palm before pressing a kiss on his wrist. He savors the feel of Will’s rabbiting pulse against his lips.

Will’s next words are hushed, like sin spoken in confession. “Do you think she feels betrayed, Hannibal? Do you think she still blames me?” 

Hannibal brings Wil closer with a strong arm. Will presses close, his face in Hannibal’s neck, and the telltale ruffling of his curls at Hannibal’s breath. 

“You know she never has. She has grown into a fine young woman, and any child of ours would know better than to let her actions speak differently from her words.” Will laughs softly. His eyelids have long drooped and he feels himself slipping, but he struggles to retort. 

“No. Any child of yours would just use those words to justify and incite reckless action.”

“I will not deny my pride in that development, but do not deny your pleasure in her becoming, either, beloved.”

“I just want to know that this is real. That isn’t just a figment of my imagination.”

Hannibal pauses at that. He fights the urge to push back against Will, to look into his eyes and make him see, to make him feel. Instead, he hums low in his throat, relishing in the shiver it elicits from the body connected to his. 

“Time didn’t reverse, Will. The teacup shattered, but we were able to bring it back together.”

“With gold?” 

“With blood and tears.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t seem like the best adhesive, Doctor.” Will cuts himself off with a yawn. Hannibal pulls him impossibly closer until they can no longer separate the beating of one heart from the other.

“Perhaps not. Would you have it any other way?”

“No.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a kudos and comment your thoughts, if you feel so inclined :>
> 
> This is my first ever Hannigram fic. I do not claim it to be my greatest work, but I just wanted to share my love for this show and the Fannibal community in general! I have learnt so much from the people I've interacted with and have been so inspired by all the art and stories I've seen thus far. The Fannibal Family is truly amazing. 
> 
> twitter: @theWrathfulLamb


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